


The Royal Dining Table

by knightcommanderalenko



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcommanderalenko/pseuds/knightcommanderalenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years after the Blight, King Alistair and Queen Elissa decide to test the strength of their dining table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal Dining Table

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to nalathequeen2186 for the prompt :3
> 
> King Alistair and Queen Warden doing it on royal dining table and are interrupted by a maid or something. Their excuse: they're "producing an heir."

“There are reports from a number of scouts of a rising number of dragons across Ferelden, your Highness.”

Elissa was at a loss. It was three years since the Blight, and since then, not once had this many things simultaneously gone wrong. West Hill was under attack by bandits, again, and there were rumours of dragon sightings across the country, along with an imminent food shortage over the winter.

As if she wasn’t aware of these things, her steward would not stop reminding her.

“And Bann Franderel of West Hill asks that the Crown send more soldiers to help him fend off the last of the outlaws.”

Elissa sighed, massaging her temples in frustration. “Yes, thank you, Rylan.” Her head ached, and if he did not shut up… Naturally, the steward didn’t stop. He began to prattle on about another matter, which if Elissa was quite honest, she really did not care about with a pounding head and a lot of other matters on her mind.

She stood up from her chair and turned to face her steward. “I am not feeling too well at present, Rylan.” She had meant to be polite, as she did like the man, but now was not a good time.

He nodded and wished her good health, before turning and leaving the study.

Elissa slumped back into her chair. There was many things she wanted to do, but what she needed primarily was a drink and to see her husband, who had been presiding over meetings all morning. She got out of her chair, the wooden legs scraping against the stone floor, and walked out of the room. The bright afternoon sun shone through the paned glass of the windows as she strode through hordes of servants and guards, each bowing as she passed.

When Elissa reached her husband’s official meeting hall, she hesitated. She couldn’t remember what meeting he was attending, and if it were unimportant enough that she steal him away. Mentally shaking herself, she knocked and entered. She was the Queen, for the Maker’s sake. She could go wherever she wished when she wished to.

The large room was decorated with red and gold. The Ferelden banner hung from every wall and the large oak table was covered in the finest red cloth. Lords and ladies from all over the country sat around the table, with her husband presiding at the head.

“Excuse me, my lords and ladies, but I require the presence of my husband.” Elissa’s expression was stern and her tone authoritative and commanding; they would obey. One by one, the nobles rose from their seats and wished the King and Queen good day. When the last of the noble men and women had left, Elissa went to her husband. “Alistair,” she said, kissing his cheek, “walk with me.”

Alistair looked at her with concern. “Are you all right, love?”

“Only a headache.” Elissa took his arm as they walked. She had no destination in mind, and in truth, just wanted the company. “I’ll live to battle with Rylan another day,” she replied with a grin.

Their wanderings had taken them all over the castle, from the meeting hall back to Elissa’s study, and beyond. They talked both of trivial things and matters of consequence. When they stopped, the pair realised that they had wandered into the dining room. The centre piece to the grand room was the large oak table. It was polished to a high gloss, and even in her trips to Orlais and beyond, Elissa had never seen another table like it.

“Is there anything I could do for you?” Alistair’s concern for her wellbeing, even after all these years, still put butterflies in her stomach.

Elissa patted her husband’s arm. “My headache has long disappeared, Alistair.” It must have been stress or her body’s reaction to her ever increasing workload. “A kiss, perhaps, would heal it further.”

Alistair smiled and pulled her in to a chaste kiss. It was sweet and innocent, like the ones they shared when in the company of others. But they were alone; alone in a giant room that no one would be entering for another few hours. It gave Elissa more than a few ideas.

As if sensing her thoughts, Alistair deepened the kiss. It became more heated, less innocent. Elissa grabbed the front of her husband’s shirt and pulled him close, while his hands roamed over her body. They stopped on her hips, his fingers kneading her flesh.

Alistair smiled into the kiss before nipping at her lower lip. “Alistair,” Elissa mumbled against him. It was a warning; if they continued, they wouldn’t stop.

“Elissa,” he replied, his tone teasing and light.

She pulled back from the kiss, and placed her arms around her husband’s shoulders. Elissa looked into his eyes, her gaze questioning. _Are you sure you want this here?_ Alistair closed the distance between them, his answer clear. _Yes, here._

He walked them backwards until Elissa’s rear met the table. The solid surface was a stark reminder that they were alone, but still somewhere that was accessed readily by people within the castle. Having a tryst here, on the royal dining table, added an element of danger to an act that they had performed thousands of times before. Honestly, Elissa loved it.

Alistair’s large hands went to the collar of her shirt and fiddled with the laces, before undoing them and pulling the garment over her head. Her trousers and boots were next, being flung to some unknown corner of the room by an enthusiastic husband. Finally, he removed her underwear, leaving Elissa gloriously naked in the crisp air.

Even after seeing her time and time again, his wife never failed to take his breath away. She was covered in scars; mementos from her escape from Highever, Ostagar, the Circle Tower, Orzammar, Denerim, and every other place in between. Her largest scar was a silvery patch on her upper thigh. It was from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and it was proof that she’d taken down a dragon and lived. Not many people could say the same. Her scars, what the other nobles saw as flaws, were living evidence that she had survived countless trials; that she was stronger and more brave than any of them.

And so, the King knelt before his Queen. He kissed his way down her body, worshipping her in all the places that he knew she adored. In truth, it amazed him that despite the scars, her skin was still smooth to the touch. His hands skimmed lower as his mouth lingered. Long fingers danced over the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh before travelling upward. Alistair brushed lightly over her nub, causing Elissa to whine. His amber eyes flicked between her face and her arousal, before he lowered his head.

Her hands flew to his head when his mouth replaced his fingers. It was bizarre how much he enjoyed having her fingers grasp at his short hair. Alistair’s talented tongue danced around her clit. He enjoyed watching his wife squirm, hearing her breathless cries and requests for more as he plundered her with his lips and tongue. His fingers returned, ever so slowly pushing into her. The muscles within her clamped down upon the digits, causing Alistair to exhale sharply. He knew just what she felt like when he buried himself inside her, her warm, wet walls tightening around his fingers suddenly making his trousers feel slightly too tight.

Elissa bit her lip in an attempt to keep her noises inside. If they were fully alone, she would writhe under his touch, moan and cry out with everything he did. They were far enough away from the servants and guards that she didn’t think anyone would investigate suspicious noises in the dining room, but she didn’t really want to take that chance. Keeping quiet was a mission for Elissa, and somehow, she didn’t think she would succeed. But Alistair’s fingers and tongue working in tandem made it hard for her to think of anything else.

Her walls fluttered around Alistair’s fingers as she came with a cry. Any attempt she had made to stifle the noises rising from her throat was forgotten in an instant. Her walls fluttered around his fingers, and her grip tightened in his short hair.

After she’d finished shaking, Alistair stood and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. He leant forward and brought her into another searing kiss. Elissa could taste herself on his tongue. She was the only one in all of Thedas that the King of Ferelden knelt for, and Maker did he do it well.

Her hands went to his shoulders, and she was unimpressed to find that he was still wearing clothes. “Why aren’t you naked yet?” she asked, frustration evident in her voice.

Alistair chuckled, and undid the laces to his jacket. His shirt, trousers, boots and underclothes followed, until he was just as naked as she was. His clothes, Elissa noticed, were nicely placed beside them on the table, not thrown over his shoulder like hers were.

“I want to try something,” Alistair said, sounding slightly uncertain. It wasn’t like him to be worried about sex, at least not anymore.

Elissa placed a still-shaky hand on his cheek. “Yes, Alistair?”

Alistair smiled, more certain thanks to her encouraging reaction. It morphed slightly, no longer his usual smile, full of teeth and sunshine, but a darker, more sensuous kind. It caused a shiver to run down her spine. “Turn around and bend over the table.”

Elissa smiled and did as he said. After they had first slept together in that awful tent many years ago, Alistair’s sexual horizons broadened faster than she would have believed. The blushing, stammering ex-Chantry boy became a man who liked sex in any way Elissa would agree to – which was a lot. She felt his hands run down her sides, his fingers gently running over the spots that made her squirm. When they reached her hips, Alistair kneaded her flesh, before one hand reached around to cup her from the front. Elissa exhaled sharply. She was still sensitive from her previous orgasm, and her husband’s hand brushed against her in a way that sent sparks strait to her core.

When the hand that had been kneading her hip left, Elissa turned. Alistair had taken himself in hand, grinning lazily, and lined himself up. “You ready, love?” he asked. Even though he seemed confident, he still double-checked that this was what she wanted.

With a smile Elissa reached behind her, blindly grabbing for any part of him she could reach. “Yes.” She felt a large hand push her forward until her chest hit the table. The hand returned to her hip, and she felt his tip enter her. Elissa scratched at the dark wood as he pushed forward, her nails leaving slight gouges. It had been a while for both of them, and her husband’s strangled moan showed it. It was always slow in the beginning. Alistair always made completely sure that she was ready for more before he picked up the pace. She had discovered that it was one of his non-verbal ways of confirming his love for her.  

Alistair slowed his thrusts even further. Even though there was danger of discovery, he found he wanted to reach every part of her over rushing towards release. Bending forward, he placed chaste kisses up her back and across her shoulder blades. He worshipped the scars he found. Alistair was not as well acquainted with these scars as he was with the ones on her face and chest, but he loved them all the same. To him, they were proof of her strength, not that it was ever in doubt. She had survived so many trials and had the marks to show for it.

Elissa whimpered against the cold wood of the table. “Maker, Alistair.” Elissa was raised an Andrastian, yet she didn’t think it wrong for praising the Maker’s greatest creation; her husband. If she told Alistair so, he would either vehemently deny it or turn a dark shade of pink. Probably both. Nevertheless, thank the Maker for her husband.

Elissa moaned. At this point in the proceedings, she could not care less if the entirety of Denerim heard them. Maker, let them. Let them know that their King was good at other things aside from ruling a country.

In the distance, Elissa thought she heard footsteps. It wasn’t uncommon for people to venture into this part of the castle, as there was a main hallway just outside the large double doors. She thought nothing of it. Perhaps it was just a maid going to fetch something from one of the large store rooms down the hall. She was wrong, one of the doors creaked open, and a maid, perhaps around the age of twenty, scurried through. She didn’t see them at first, but when she did, she stopped dead in her tracks.

It was like she didn’t know where to look, Elissa thought amused. Had she never encountered sex before? Elissa herself had walked in on countless servants having encounters in the hallways, store rooms, closets, and even the garden. The maid – what was her name again? – started to back away, one hand outstretched behind her, searching for the door.

She caught the Queen’s eye. “Your Highnesses,” she said, her face as red as her hair. Margaret! That was her name. The hair was a giveaway.

Elissa looked her straight in the eye, and in the most serious voice she could muster with her husband balls-deep inside her, said: “We’re producing an heir, Margaret.”

She nodded vigorously, and mumbled something that sounded like “very good, your Highness,” before she slammed the door shut behind her.

Elissa turned her head to look at her husband. Alistair’s face had turned as red as the maid’s hair. The colour stretched from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. He looked absolutely mortified. Elissa had tried to suppress her laughter, but both horrifying the maid and her husband’s expression had her nearly in hysterics. Had it not been for Alistair’s hands at her waist, she would have fallen face first onto the table in mirth.

“I believe we’ve just scarred her for life,” Alistair said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“She’ll have quite the tale to tell her grandchildren,” Elissa agreed. In the crotchety-est, most old-woman like voice, she said: “When I was your age, I walked in on the King and Queen fucking on the royal dining table.”

Alistair’s smile widened. “You see, this is why I love you.”

Elissa raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought it was because of this,” she said, clenching her inner muscles down on him. Alistair choked, any laughter left in his throat was replaced by a groan. He braced his hands back against the table and shifted his hips oh so slowly. The rekindled movement of his cock inside her, coupled with the feeling of his muscled chest against her back sent a streak of fire straight to her core. Elissa lowered her head on the table, the cool wood contrasting beautifully with her heated skin. Maker, he was good.

Alistair revelled in her moans. He got immense satisfaction from the fact that he was the one who did this to her; reduced the Warden-Commander, the Queen, to a flushed, moaning, woman scratching at a table. Never would he have imagined such a thing when they met, even though, admittedly, he imagined other things.

Elissa’s legs trembled under her husband’s slow pace, and for the second time in the past half-hour, she thanked the Maker for their large dining table. When they had come together for the first time during the Blight, she hadn’t honestly been expecting much in the way of satisfaction. She was right, in a sense; Alistair had been quite self-conscious and unknowledgeable, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. She’d been very surprised when he managed to wrangle multiple orgasms out of her. It was a trait that he’d continued to show throughout their marriage.

Alistair made a rumbling noise from deep in his chest and changed speed. The rate that his hips slapped against her arse increased, along with the position in which he entered her. The new angle meant that with every thrust, he hit the bunch of nerves that caused Elissa to cry out. Each snap of his hips sent her hurtling closer to the edge.

Sparks shot up her spine and she came with a low moan. Her walls clenched around his cock as she slumped forward in a boneless heap. If it hadn’t been for Alistair holding her hips up, she would have slid right off the table, and melted into a puddle on the floor. She made some inarticulate moaning noise when Alistair continued to rock against her backside.

He picked up the pace, sharp hipbones hitting her backside with every thrust. His own completion was just out of reach, and Maker did he want it. Elissa’s walls still fluttered around him, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside her. His hips slowed against her, and stopped, and Alistair drooped forward, half-resting on his wife. “Am I squashing you?” he asked. Elissa was far stronger than every other woman he knew, but still, he wasn’t a small man.

She laughed, turning her head to kiss her husband. “Not at all. I actually quite like it.” Both were covered a fine sheen of sweat, and thoroughly spent.

“Good,” Alistair replied, a smile evident in his voice. “Because I don’t want to get up.”

“Neither do I, but we probably should,” Elissa said, her voice slightly muffled by her arm. “We don’t want to scar another maid.”

“No,” Alistair agreed. “No we don’t.”


End file.
